Awakening
by ElspethElf
Summary: When I was fifteen, the mchowni died. He died, and all of my magic, that he had taken and used since the day I was born, it came back to me. I nearly died.' A look into Frostpine's past. (standalone)


A look into Frostpine's past (standalone)

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**Awakening**

**by ElspethElf**

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That night a quarrel broke out between two shepherding families of Mbau. Five goats had gone missing from the flock during the night, and the argument started straight away with both herdsmen fiercely blaming the other for the loss. 

Father was called away into the _shuq_ with the elders to judge the squabble. Since our family prospered five years ago from trades with our neighbouring town, and since Grandpa died and passed down his rights to father, his presence was rarely unneeded in the _shuq_ amongst other headmen of the family.

The village _mchowni_ was, essentially, also required but he had been ill with a chest problem since autumn began. The local healer women fretted and fussed, giving him the village's best herbs and spices. Mother made duck stews once a week and brought it to his hut. Others gave him eggs, bread, and cheese and milk that came from their best goats.

It was on this day that brother Otti fell from a boulder whilst watching our herds. Mother threw a nervous fit when she saw him carried into the house by the village men. She fussed loudly over his broken leg, fetching her shawl to call for the village healer. Before she left, she summoned me to carry her weekly-soup to the _mchowni's _hut.

I would spend the rest of my life making nails for Ramish before setting foot in the shaman's house. His place smelt of damp wood and sweat, the air suffocating and never moving, so much so that I was always left dizzy and tired after visiting. 'Bad air means bad forge means bad metal,' Ramish would always say, lifting one sooty eyebrow to check I was paying attention.

I didn't like the way the _mchowni_ always studied me, or his suggestion of promising little Shani to the house of our major buyer from the next village once she was old enough to marry.

'Show some respect, Moody!' mother snapped, her fierce, brown eyes flashing threateningly. 'Your brother needs a healer and the _mchowni_ needs his stew. Lakik's teeth, you spend more of your life in the forge than helping around the house. Now go, and be polite to the _mchowni_. Gods know he has done so much for us.'

'I'll come with you, Dulani.' Shani put her small hand in mine, and I gave it a grateful squeeze.

She was the only person except Ramish, who addressed everyone below his age as 'boy', to call me by my real name. To others, especially mother and father, I was known as 'Moody'. It was what the _mchowni_ called me every time he visited, and the name stuck, like stinking rust on nails. Mother thought it was an affectionate nickname.

The _mchowni's_ hut was on the outskirts of our village, past the grazing pastures and the main clutter of tents. A holy symbol marked his door. Shani gave it a push.

Damp, sour smell of sweat and unwashed body covered the room like a thick cloak. With it came also the stink of metal and burnt fires. Holding my breath, I approached the bed where the old man lay.

'Who is it?' His thin voice rasped like dry paper.

'Dulani and Shani. We brought you mother's soup.'

'Ah, the little moody one.' He coughed, his face squeezed in pain at each contraction of his wasted lungs. 'Boy,' he whispered, 'Give me your hand.'

Very reluctantly, I gave it to him, and felt the dry, shrivelled skin of his bony hand. He looked very old. White wisps of hair protruded from the side of his head, falling across an equally shrivelled face that was as black as the night.

He gazed at me for a long time; his eyes pierced unblinkingly into mine. It was as if he was trying to see through me, to drawl out something that was so personal even I had no knowledge of what it was. His disturbing gaze became too uncomfortable. The silence soared and cackled like heat in a forge.

Then, Shani spoke, her sweet voice like a breath of fresh air.

'_Mchowni_, its Dulani's birthday today.'

'Ay, and how old would you be, boy?' He never let go of my hand.

'Fifteen.'

'Humph, fifteen…good strong age…'

A loud, hacking cough erupted from his chest, the cream linen stained a speckled red. He gasped, fighting for air before another cough seized him. This time his entire body shuddered and he cried out in pain. A shower of scarlet blood flew from his mouth. His eyes bulged in panic as he fought to breathe.

'I'm going to call for a healer!' I told the _mchowni_, as horror and repulsion filled my stomach. I have never been sick in my life and this was as close to throwing up as I would ever experience. I tried to pull my hand from his but he clung on, crying, 'No! Don't let go of my hand.'

I didn't know what was happening, but the room suddenly spun. Fighting back the urge to run, I told Shani to get the nearest healer.

'Help's coming,' I told the dying man. He didn't seem to hear. Instead, he clung on to my hand, as if it was the only thing that could save him.

'Ay…ay,' he whispered over and over again, squeezing my hand until it went numb. 'You can't help me anymore.'

The healer arrived just in time to see the _mchowni_ in his lung's third attack. Sweat rolled from his face as his chest shook with exhaustion. Without warning, he jerked upwards and opened his mouth. No sound came as he hung in midair, eyes wide and glazed. Then, silently, he fell back into bed, and with a tired, gasping sigh, he closed his eyes and died.

I screamed. The hand that still clung to me burned like fire. I snatched my hand away but the burning continued, making its slow, excruciating way up and through my veins. I couldn't breath. Everything was white, and the room became too bright for me to see. Someone grabbed my arm, sending another shock of pain through me. I yelled and flung it away.

Then my ears started buzzing. Loud vibrations, like very violent humming pounded in my ears. I could hear a roaring, whirling noise, singing and screaming in my head.

Then I smelt metal. So much metal.

My nose reeked of the sharp odour of iron, and on my tongue I tasted the bitterness it.

It became all too much as my entire body swelled with this new intrusion of sensations. I screamed again, covering my ears with my hands, grovelling on the ground for the noises to stop. And then they did, the dark silence crashing down on me like a heavy boulder.

I only found out, three days later, that I had fainted, as close to death as the _mchowni._


End file.
